Scenarios of Hetalia: A Fangirl's Inspiration
by Rowan Lyneth
Summary: Set one one-shots and Drabbles that I've written. Multiple pairings, Nyo! 2p! characters involved. Some platonic relationships, some yaoi, hetero, and possibly yuri in the future. Cursing and Innuendo involved. As well as Fluff. I like meh fluff. Rated T for certain chapters and I doubt that it'll go any higher.
1. Bonding

_**Okay, I know I haven't been really active for like I don't know how long... too long actually. I also need to update Love's Difficulties. I know this and I am like insanely sorry. I will tho! For since the last time I updated, I lost Word on my computer AGAIN and had to wait like three four months to actually get on it! I finally did get it back but after that I lost some interest in writing, so I didn't get back to it. Not to mention it was the end of my Senior year of High School so everything was, as Romano would say, going shitty. Then I had to move like the day after graduation so for that week after graduation I had NO INTERNET. During that week I started writing again. Lost of one-shots for I can't start on Love's Difficulties unless I can find my flash drive which is hiding somewhere. But I promise promise PROMISE I'll start working on that again once I find my flash drive! **_

_**Anyway. To this one-shot/drabble!**_

_**Title: Bonding**_

_**Genre: Humor/Family/Romance**_

_**Rating: T**_

_**Pairing: Itacest**_

_**Warning(s): Language Courtesy of Romano, innuendo, Incest**_

* * *

**Bonding**

Romano sat there seething. He was supposed to be out with Veneziano for some brotherly bonding. It _was_ supposed to be the two alone, but that potato bastard and the albino potato had to show up. Now Veneziano was off frolicking with those two, leaving poor Romano to sit awkwardly alone on the edge of the fountain in the square.

He was already getting weird looks and points by passersby. It was starting to irritate him. He wasn't some lonesome man getting stood up, or some sort of hobo. He glanced over and saw a couple looking and whispering to each other. It was most likely about him. He scowled and waited a moment. The man of the couple pointed at him, giving a full indication of what they were talking about. Lovino sighed and gave them his atomic "fuck you", probably the loudest middle finger anyone can give.

But of course he got smacked in the head by the woman's purse as a result.

Doctoring his now aching cranium, Lovino muttered curses under his breath. Stupid Fratello for ditching him. Stupid potato bastards for taking him away. Stupid brotherly bonding.

Sunlight was waning and Lovino still sat on the edge of the fountain. His legs were crossed and his arms were folded over his chest. He was no longer seething, but just betrayed now. He was sure Feliciano had forgotten him by now. Probably off with potato number one having "fun times". Potato number two was probably filming it.

He blushed, reddening like an overripe tomato. He shook his head to get rid of that horrible, yet intriguing image.

He huffed, feeling worse than ever. Standing up, he brushed off his jeans and straightened his lime green, quarter-sleeve shirt.

He was about to leave when he was greeted with the shout of "Fratello!" and being tackled to the ground.

Lovino grunted pushing at the small body on top of him. "Get off idiota!"

Feliciano whined, "But Fratello! I missed you!"

That made the other scoff. He shoved the weaker Italian off of him, sitting up. "Ha! If you missed me you shouldn't've ditched me, bastardo!"

Feliciano frowned. "I was just showing them around. They were lost and were looking for their hotel. I was gonna come right back!"

"Then why didn't you!"

"I had to stop by and get something."

Lovino rolled his eyes. "Cheh. You were so Hellbent on dragging me out on this 'brotherly bonding' thing and then you ditch me! My whole day! Wasted!"

Feliciano chuckled, "You wouldn't have done anything anyway! Besides," the younger italian's tone suddenly turned dark, making Lovino blush heavily, "I was waiting for our _brotherly bonding _tonight."

Lovino gulped, growing hot all over.


	2. Morning

_**Okay, This is a pairing I never really thought of writing before. I hope I did it right and I hope this sounds good. Enjoy~**_

_**... Gahd this is short. Didn't realize it when I typed it up on my phone... Drabble...**_

_**Title: Morning**_

_**Genre: Romance**_

_**Rating: K+ **_

_**Pairing: IggyCan **_

_**Warning(s): Bit of innuendo, though slight. If you want add an extra + to the K+ and it might suit. **_

* * *

**Morning**

Canada smiled softly, watching the blond sleep. The morning sun drifted in silently through the blinds, bird's chirped softly from the other side side of the window. He sat up, stretching. Violet eyes locked onto the sleeping form next to him.

He knew he shouldn't be as content as he was. He knew the soft smile he had shouldn't be so natural. The situation was totally unscrupulous, and Matthew knew it wasn't right. Two bodies melding together for the sole reason of need, want, and fit.

They fitted together like a puzzle piece. They had the same mind and the same tastes. They got along quite well. They talked, they laughed.

Unlike their significant others.

Canada couldn't really talk to America. The other one was always too loud and never really focused on anyone but himself.

England couldn't laugh with France. They were always arguing.

It was a stressful situation. Neither the violet eyed Canadian or the green eyed Brit were too happy with their lives. They had been with their partners for years, but everything rolled downhill. A mudslide of frustration and depression.

But with each other, they could forget all of that. Expectations were out the door, engagements broke off. It was just them, in glorious bliss and solitude. No loud outings or flirtatious premieres. Just them.

Just them and the beautiful morning.

"Ah, good morning love."

"Morning Arthur. Would you like some breakfast?"


	3. Reflection

_**I felt sooooo empowered while writing this one. I have to say this one makes me proud...**_

_**Title: Reflection**_

_**Genre: General really... I can't place it but as my baby...**_

_**Rating: T**_

_**Pairing: None**_

_**Warning(s): Language Courtesy of Lovino and Luciano**_

* * *

**Reflection**

It felt good to be bad.

To break the rules and make your own way. Rebellion, as innate as it is, is a sanctity even more powerful and welcoming than the church itself. Just the knowledge of doing what was restricted, the ability to gloat about your ability to stretch the limits, to break the holy barrier is refreshing, like watermelon on a hot late-Spring day, wearing shorts and a wet T-shirt because your friend decided it would be funny to dump a bucket of ice cold, chlorinated water from the pool you had yet to open. Humans crave this feeling, often searching for things that they could do wrong.

Feliciano often wondered why sitting in front of the mirror at night was wrong though.

It was a warning of his grandfather's, not to mention his brother's. He was not to sit in front of the bathroom mirror, or any mirror for that matter, for longer than needed after dusk had settled in. Well, twilight had begun to rear its ugly head, spraying midnight violet rays splashed with gold, orange, magenta, and red over the hilly horizon. Large clouds covering the sky, mimicking a salmon tone on one side and a light, pastel plum on the other. Stars had begun to dot the spacious dome above mother earth, adding their own sparkle. The crescent moon rising from the east, following the sun's descent west, grinning wildly, much like a madman, down at the unsuspecting children of the earth. And Feliciano was sitting in front of his bathroom mirror, staring at it. He really didn't see what was so bad about it.

He gave a glance yo his reflection, giving it a soft smile. Whenever Germany was out with Prussia drinking, or Romano was out with Spain, or when France was pestering England, the poor half-nation was left on his own. He got pretty lonely.

He would never admit to it, or show it, but he was not always the happy-go-lucky, flirtatious, obliviously adorable Italian he showed in public. In all reality, that wasn't him at all. His temper was worse than his fratello's, as well as his mouth. He just held it back and had much better control. The years had actually made him a hard nation, determined and angry, but he kept it hidden. He knew to have _any_ balance in the world he had to be chipper, different than his brother for one. He had to balance to his brother and bring some light to the world. It was hard, but he managed.

But all the anger was bottled up inside him. He constantly felt like a geyser ready to burst. He knew much _much_ more than he let on, especially during meetings, and to see so many problems in his small world just _pissed him off_. None of the bastards did anything but bicker. He was going to snap one day, he knew, but for now he would just control it.

But he couldn't control it without having a friend to vent with.

He could with Romano. But Romano saw him as this silly, annoyingly happy little brother. He really didn't want to frighten his twin away. He could with Spain, but would he really take him seriously? Probably not. France? He didn't think it'd help any there. Germany or Prussia? Again, probably wouldn't be taken seriously.

And that's where the mirror came in.

Here was his only friend that he could rely on with his deepest problems. He told him everything, and he listened intently, not butting in to make remarks or advice, just listen until Feliciano notified the want of a response. His reflection understood him, connected with him in ways everyone else couldn't. He found solace in that. Safety. Comfort.

But ever since he was little he was told the warning over and over again about the mirror. His grandfather's rants ringing in his ear. Eventually the rants took on Lovino's voice and vernacular.

_Mio bambino never stare at a mirror for too long. Its dangerous. You could get hurt!_

_Oi! Pasta bastard! (But fratello, you like pasta too! That means you're a pasta bastard!) Shut up! No I'm not! Don't sit in front of the damn mirror so long! It'll kill your ass!_

He never questioned the two. The urgency of their voice alone forced him into submission and he did as told. But the situation always intrigued him.

"They're right you know."

The cool, smooth voice brought Veneziano out of his reverie, causing him to return his full attention to the mirror and his reflection.

His reflection was there alright. But the stance was off. Cool and commanding and darker. _So much darker_.

Italy cocked his head to the side. "What do you mean?"

The figure in the mirror smirked lazily, reaching a hand up to straighten his dark violet fez; it matched his eyes well. "Nice nations don't start wars. They one finish them. The longer you stare at the mirror, the more you analyze your flaws. You might let me out." he extended a slender hand to the glass barely touching it with his fingertip when a bright flash of gold and black shot him back from the mirror, temporarily blinding Feli. The man hissed. "_Fuck!_" shaking his dark auburn head, he sent his parallel a glare.

Feliciano blinked, amber eyes readjusting to the light. When his pupils returned to normal and he could see again, he caught a glimpse of the malicious stare. Usually under harsh conditions like that he would shrink and cower, but he felt differently here. More-

"What?"

"Why the fuck can my _stupido nonno _and _pansy of a fratello _make it out but I can't?!"

Feliciano sighed. "If you're meaning the warmonger and the fashionista, it's because _mio_ fratello and nonno have no self-control." Yes. He knew who the reflection was talking about. The alternate personalities that his own family suffered from. The very person that started the Fall of Rome and the one that his brother used as a venting, which often brought more trouble than not in times of war.

"They have no self-control, but I have plenty of it. If I ever need a bloodbath, I'll come calling, but you stay in there until I say so."

With that, Italy left the bathroom, turning off the lights and shutting the door on his way out.


	4. Romantic

_**Another Short one. Actually, this was the first one I wrote during my break. My friend and I were just lazing about the new apartment, and she had Sexy Back playing in the background, and I started to write this... very interesting actually.**_

_**Title: Romantic**_

_**Genre: Romance/Humor**_

_**Rating: T possibly. Just barely. I blame England. **_

_**Pairing: UsUk**_

_**Warning(s): Slight cursing on England's part. **_

* * *

**Romantic**

England sat in the rocker by the fireplace, reading one of his favorite romance novels. He was a bit of a romantic. Roses on the off day, surprise dates and visits from his lover, candlelit dinners, the works. He often read romance novels for "ammo" if he needed. Though, he never really needed it.

For his lover, current I might add-

"I'M BRINGING SEXY BACK!" America slid into the room, clad in stars and stripes boxers, black hairbrush in hand (with locks of gold sticking out of it), white socks ruffled on his feet and quite at the disarray, and finally giant, green rimmed, clown sunglasses on his face. He did a moonwalk, singing more lyrics of Sexy Back, eventually being parallel with the Brit, wrapping an arm around his small shoulders.

Arthur scowled, slamming his book shut. "You most definatly aren't _bringing sexy back_, in that get-up."

Alfred moved away, feigning shock. "What? Dude! Don't tell me you don't want to get with all this!" He slid his hands down his chest to his legs, making a very provocative motion with his hips. England blushed at the sight.

Green eyes suddenly found the wall very interesting. "I am already with _that_, you git." he muttered. America grinned, leaping over and closing the gap between them. The kiss was a tender one, sweet and slow. Something England had to get used to, considering he always imagined America as the rough, fast type.

It was also a tease.

"Bloody hell why can't you be more romantic like that all the time!"

"Dude! I am!"

"We haven't had a romantic dinner in months!"

"Last week!"

"A hamburger joint in New York isn't romantic. It's sweaty and rushing."

England huffed and slid farther down in his chair, arms crossing over his chest. Sometimes he wondered if he was really happy in this relationship. He mused over finding a new lover, one that was more romantic. One that had a cupid's arrow hidden in his closet instead of a 32 inch Dark Vader statue.

"Fine. If you really want romantic..."

England blinked and turned to America, curious as to what the taller blond meant.

"I was saving this for our anniversary, but if you want something romantic now." Alfred left him and returned to their shared room. He returned wearing the outfit Arthur had recently bought him: a white button up with a few buttons left unbuttoned to reveal a slightly tanned, chiseled chest, khakis that hugged his hips well, and his hair combed to the side. He forwent the shoes, though so did Arthur, they were inside after all.

The Brit tilted his head to the side, confused as to what the hyperactive blond was up to. This was highly unusual for him.

Though all questions were answered with the American bending to one knee and asking, with a world of emotion: fear, excitement, love, "Arthur. Will you marry me?"


	5. Shag, Marry, Cliff

_**This one was fun~ I found that if I have like a personality mixed between Canada and England when it comes to the Nyo!s...**_

_**Title: Shag, Marry, Cliff**_

_**Genre: Romance/Humor**_

_**Rating: T (I mean look at the titular game...)**_

_**Pairing: USnyo!UK**_

_**Warning(s): Innuendo, the game mentioned, mentions of yaoi and yuri, language**_

* * *

**Shag, Marry, Cliff**

Alfred sipped his tea. Two things were wrong with that sentence. Alfred never could see himself drinking tea (the stuff was _okay_, but he so liked coffee better), yet here he was indulging himself in it. And he never sipped. He gulped down the drink like a thirsty Russian with a bottle of vodka. Though he regretted it later when his throat was raw from the scorching drink.

Alice sat across from him, one leg crossed over the other, her emerald eyes closed as she actually _sipped _on her cup of Earl Gray.

America set his cup down and watched the female Brit. When she said nothing, he huffed and crossed his arms. Green orbs blinked open and gave him a disinterested stare.

"What?" _So coarse,_ Alfred thought.

"This is boring. Let's play a game!" it was more of a demand than a suggestion.

Alice scrunched up her face with slight disgust. "You git! Tea time is an important cultural pastime in England! And you just call it _boring_?!"

Alfred rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on! Don't tell me that _you _weren't even a little bored."

She shit her mouth, forming those petal lips into a thin line. He was right. She did suppose she felt a wee bit bored. A game couldn't hurt. She sent him a cautious glance.

"So... What game do you have in mind?" the woman asked, setting down her cup as well.

America thought a moment. He straightened his glasses and played with a string on his jacket. After a moment, he answered, "how about truth or dare?"

Alice rolled her eyes. "Bloody stupid. That game isn't nearly as fun with only two people." she received a furrowed brow to her response. "What's that look for?"

A shrug. "Thought you wouldn't like the game is all, not that it wouldn't be fun."

"Of course I like the game! The girls and I play it all the time!" there was a pause. "How about we play shag, marry, cliff?"

America blinked. " What the hell is that?"

"You give me or I give you three names of three people and you choose who you would shag, marry, or throw off a cliff." Alice explained.

Alfred pursed his lips, thinking and confused. "Alright... But what is a shag? Like give a haircut to?" he laughed when he saw Alice flush. "What?"

"Sh-shag is British slang for sex you git!"

Alfred blushed. "Oh... You start." he really wasn't sure how the game was supposed to go. He meant, it really sounded simple, but he didn't want to make a suggesting and it be really stupid.

But the game did sound intriguing. He may be able to use it for his own benefit too. Alice has really been spending a lot of time with Arthur lately. Sure, they were siblings, but it just felt off to him. N-not that he was jealous or anything! Heroes don't get jealous! Just curious.

"Alright," she paused in thought, "Madeleine, Kiku, or Gilbert?"

Robin's egg blue eyes snapped open wide in shock. "Dude! You put two guys in there!"

"So! Gender doesn't matter in this game!" Sure, she said that, but he didn't really believe her.

"Uhm..." Alfred shook his head. Kiku wouldn't do anything sexual. He hated touching. Gilbert... Gilbert was Gilbert... And Maddie was so quiet. He supposed he could cliff Kiku... But he really didn't want to do that to the Asian. That was his friend. Gilbert would be really easy to throw off a cliff...

"Well?" Alice snapped impatiently. Her leg bouncing on top of her other.

"I'll shag Madeleine, marry Kiku, and throw Gilbert off the cliff!" Alice busted out laughing, making Alfred frown. "Hey! You suggested this game!"

"I know!" the small woman covered her mouth with one hand and held her chest with another. "Just didn't exactly expect you to toss the poor bastard off! I just imagined his face if he heard you say that!" she broke down in giggles once more.

The American chuckled as well. "Well, he sometimes deserves it!" He almost could hear a shout from Germany saying: _Zhat is so unawesome!_

"Alright," Alice said when she settled down, wiping a tear from her eye, "your turn."

"Hmm... Francis, Francine, or François?" Alfred knew his companion was going to give him Hell for this, but it'd be worth ot to see her face.

"What?! I gave you a fair choice and you repay me with this?!"

Definitely worth it.

"Yes. Now answer it."

"Bloody git! Hm. I'll toss Fran_cis_ off the cliff. The wanker was always trying to get up my skirt... I think I can shag Fran_cine. _She won't mind a one night stand, as long as she doesn't follow me around like a lost puppy again. And I'll marry Fran_çois." _

This confused Alfred. "Why marry him? He isn't really romantic."

"That's exactly why. He'll leave me alone for the most part."

Made sense.

"My turn. Russia, Cuba, or Belarus."

"WHAT?! Why the Commie Bastard and his friend?! And the Commie Bastard's scary sister?!"

Alice chortled, maniacally almost. "Just answer the question Alfred."

This took some thought. He _really _didn't like any of these three. Sure, Belarus was hot, buy she was scary too! Really scary! Like scary scary!

... He'd marry her.

That left the commies. This one was more difficult.

"Tick tock! Alfred! Tick tock!"

"Tock tick! I pick: Belarus to marry, Cuba to shag, and Russia to cliff in drag!"

"...What the hell?"

"I have no clue. You were rushing me."

"So are you in drag or him?"

"Him!"

"Sure. Whatever you say poppet."

Alfred huffed. He hated being rushed. He said the stupidest things when he was rushed. He supposed now was a good time as any to go for his plan.

"O-okay. Uh... Lovino, Arthur, o-or me." he said this with a blush grazing his nose and cheeks. Alice's face flushed red. She looked to the side and fiddled with her hands in her lap.

"I think I'll cliff Lovino." she said cautiously, slowly. Alfred, metaphorically of course, was on the edge of his seat. "And... I think I'll shag Arthur and marry you."

The information only half processed when he opened his mouth. "S-shag Arthur?! But why? Why in the world would you want to have sex with him! One he's your brother and two he isn't that great of a guy! I swear I'm a better lover than he is! And-"

"ALFRED! I SAID I'D MARRY YOU!" Alice shrieked, if only to shut him up, which it did. She gasped, flushing harder. "I love Arthur but there's no way I could spend the rest of my life with him. One night would do." Alice closed her emerald eyes and turned away, embarrassed.

After processing the information, Alfred leaned over the small coffee table, knocking over the tea cups. He gently grabbed the small woman's face and turned it to face him before placing his lips onto hers.

"I'd marry you too."


	6. The Date

_**Short, but this was actually my first attempt at writing the Nyo!s. I felt like I did pretty well... I also feel like this could have a second part... well.. maybe...**_

**_Also, on the noticeboard, I will be publishing another chapter story soon, so unless I find my flash drive soon I'll be doing this story more than Love's Difficulties. I hate that, but I can't help it. Moving suck ball, in the words of China..._**

**_Title: The Date_**

**_Genre: Romance/Humor/Fluff_**

**_Rating: K_**

**_Pairing: USnyo!Can_**

**_Warning(s): ... None I think are needed. _**

* * *

**The Date**

Madeleine felt more than awkward. In fact, she felt like a freaking flamingo in a pool of penguins. Alfred had asked her out on a date, but she really didn't know how a date was supposed to go. It wasn't like men were lining up at her door to court her. Matthew had seen to that after Gilbert had tried to climb through her window on the second floor trying to "woo her".

The whole situation made her laugh really. Not because the albino fell out of the tree, nearly giving himself a flying wedgie, or because her flowerpot fell on his head, but because Matthew was mad as fire. She never saw him so livid, verbal, or so loud. Though, she couldn't blame him. If her sister was in the middle of returning to her room from a shower, clad in only a towel, and a guy tried to enter through her dang window, she'd be pretty mad too.

So after that fiasco, somehow Matthew scared off all and any guy who wanted to date her. Even though she was proud of her brother's accomplishment, she couldn't help but feel a little disappointed. Here she was on her very first date ever and she was more awkward than a pig in a beauty pageant, lost and confused as to what to do.

Which left her with the self-proclaimed hero on the streets of New York, walking around aimlessly while the man jabbered on.

"And here I was, waiting for that Commie Bastard to strike, but he didn't! So I just stood there looking awesome until I came up with a plan to-"

To be frank, she wasn't even listening, so she didn't care what story of his she was interrupting.

"Listen, Alfred," she said quietly, picking at his sleeve. He stopped his flailing arms and shut his mouth. "I-I've never actually been on a date before so I don't know exactly what to do. You'll have to lead the way."

Alfred blinked for a second. The girl to his side was holding onto the sleeve of his red t-shirt gently with two fingers, a blush on her face, and her head turned to the side in embarrassment, her blond curls brushing her cheek and covering her eye slightly. He had to fight the blush that was creeping in onto his face while his heart pounded in his chest.

_Why did this girl have to be so damn cute?! _

Whilst his mind whirred with chaotic thoughts, Madeleine opened one violet eye to glance at her date. His lack of response, just two bright blue orbs gazing at her from behind square rimmed frames, worried her a bit.

"A-Alfred? Earth to Alfred! You in there, eh?" she lightly tapped his face with one hand.

He shook his head, rendering himself out of his reverie. _Oh yeah, this __**is**__ Mattie's sister..._ He grinned broadly, showing off a set of gleaming white, straight teeth. He snatched up the hand that was at his face. "Be your hero, dude?! Yeah, I can so do that!" he set off at a run, dragging the poor Canadian behind him.

"A-Alfred! ALFRED! Gah! Slow down you hoser!"

_Yeah, definitely Mattie's sister. _


	7. April 12

_**This one was cute to write. I'm enjoying writing these Nyo!characters! This one involves two headcannons: one being that Amelia is actually the representation of the South from the Civil War and two being that Amelia is afraid of zombies while Alfred is afraid of ghosts. Also I gave her a slight accent. Though you may not really hear it as you read. It's slight. Very slight.**_

_**Title: April 12**_

_**Genre: Family/Humor**_

_**Rating: T **_

_**Pairing(s): None**_

_**Warning(s): Language, mentions of the confederacy and confederate flag (though if this really bothers you you probably need to like stop living in the 1800s/ early 1900s). **_

* * *

**April 12**

America lived north. He usually lived in his penthouse in New York or in his mansion in DC. Sometimes he stayed in an old house in Virginia when he felt like having a break from the city. So, him going south was only on a whim. He never really liked going south. He felt… almost dirty when he did.

So, avoiding it was the best option.

You can imagine Amelia's surprise when her older brother popped out of nowhere one day on her porch. She had been walking home, multiple bags on her arms from grocery shopping, when she saw him passed out on her porch swing, snoring lightly.

At first, she blinked, and walked right passed him, juggling her bags to pull her keys out of her back pocket, yanking open the screen door, unlocking the main barrier, and entering her household to set her stuff down. Once all of the bags were pouring off the kitchen counter in a heap, Amelia huffed in satisfaction and returned to her brother. Searching his figure, he seemed quite out of place with the small town atmosphere. He was dressed in high-top sneakers, skinny jeans, and a superman t-shirt. The new Flips dangled around his neck. He looked like a city boy. She felt a pang of embarrassment for him, knowing he was out of place. Not to say other teenagers dressed overly different, but there was that air about him that most kids from her town didn't have.

Amelia lived in the south. She used to live in a flat in Atlanta, and she had an apartment in New Orleans, but she traded both of them out for a house- one much like the middle-class would afford in the backyard of Tennessee. She felt more comfortable here, like she belonged. She wasn't flashy like her brother, but just the opposite. She had a more… humble outlook on life, though her personality wasn't much different from her brother's.

Alfred, as stated, was lounging on the porch swing, dead to the world. This is where Amelia hatched a harebrained scheme, a malicious plot that made her grin like a madman. Gently putting her slender hands on the chains that held the swing to the roof of the porch, she walked around until she was behind it. grasping the chains lightly, she pulled and pulled back on the swing until her sleeping sibling was perched precariously on the white, wooden chair. She let go, pushing with an almighty force, causing the swing to _swing_ violently forward.

Alfred woke up screaming before he fell to the cracked, creaking floor of the old front porch.

Sitting up, doctoring his swollen head, Alfred glared up at his sister. "Dude! What the hell?!"

"What were you doin' on my porch swing, Al?" Amelia asked with a smirk.

"Waiting on you to get home!" the American man stood up, rubbing his backside. Straightening his T, he crossed his arms and twisted his mouth. "Why'd you throw me off the swing?"

Amelia laughed. "Cuz you were sleepin' on it!"

Sweat-drop. "That it?"

"Yeah!" Alfred shook his blond head. "Why're you here anyway?"

The mood suddenly dropped, Amelia could feel it. Alfred cast his baby blue eyes to the floor and rubbed his right arm with his left hand, chewing on his lip. He didn't say anything; he just kicked at the squeaky floorboards with the toe of his show. Amelia placed her hand on her hips, fingers barely brushing the frays of her jean shorts, and leaned forward. "Well?"

America blinked upwards, catching a full glimpse of Amelia's military green halter top… and her breasts that were slightly falling out of it as she leaned father forward. A heavy blush stained his cheeks. "God! Sis! Pull your shirt up! You look indecent!"

Amelia looked down and back up, giving Alfred a stare. "What?! Now you sound like the old man! I'm a woman and I have the right to show off my assets if I wanna!" She pulled down her shirt just slightly so more of the ladies popped out showing their sunny little faces. "Ah! The breeze is so _nice!_"

"AMELIA! STAHP!" Alfred shielded his eyes, face reddening like one of Spain's tomatoes. The former confederacy smirked, puffing out her chest for more emphasis.

"I will if you get to the point!"

"Fine, fine!" Alfred reached under the swing and pulled out a bouquet of red and white roses wrapped in pink plastic. A small version of the confederate flag stuck out of the bouquet. Amelia's arms fell to her side, limp like overcooked pasta noodles.

"W-what's that?"

Alfred looked up with a warm smile, bright and endearing. His blue eyes sparkled in the shade of the porch roof, as the afternoon sun peeked under the awning. "It's April twelfth, Sis."

Amelia glanced down at her side. "The anniversary of the start of the Civil War…" she muttered.

"No." She glanced up, surprise in her eyes. "It's your birthday, Amy. Happy birthday."

Amelia could feel the tears stinging her eyes. She wiped them away furiously, refusing to let her brother see her cry. Yelling her thanks, she glomped him, tackling him in a hug so tight Alfred felt like he might be ripped in half. He embraced her back, nuzzling his face in her hair, and she nuzzling into his chest.

"I love you, Al."

"Love you too, Amy."

The confederate pulled away, taking her bouquet of roses. "Let me get these in some water." She started toward her door, stopping when she was half in. "Hey, Al, wanna come in and play some videogames?" she smiled.

Alfred's eyes lit up. "HELL YEAH!" He fist pumped the air and ran inside. "I want to play the zombie game!"

Amelia's eyes widened in fear. "HELL NO! IF WE'RE PLAYING THAT DEMON I CALL WE PLAY PARANORMAL ACTIVITY!" She ran inside after him, the screen door slamming shut behind her.

"FUCK NO, DUDE! YOU KNOW I HATE GHOSTS!"

"YOU KNOW I HATE ZOMBIES!"

"DUDE!"

"BRO!"


End file.
